So very Noice.

Great news!!! The Harvard Voice, which I am proud to be a member of, has been up to some fantastic things.

Particularly, it's launched a new blog called "Noice" and a side project called HarvardFML. Both of which you can access with a simple click. In addition to being a staff writer I am also the web/blog director under the great control of m'dear Alisha Ramos... so I just felt that it merits a shout out on Lionswithantlers.

Mmm noice. It's going to be the shit. THE shit. We're so proud and we hope you like it :).

Her Milkshake brought all the boys to the Yard

But then she took a big steaming shit and suddenly everyone lost interest.

I know its written and all... but Cambridge is smelly enough without the cowpie. Thanks, Faith but I would have preferred Febreeze.

They're Called Final Clubs for a Reason

...because they're last place I'd want to be on even the most busted of nights.

Acknowledging my bias: I am a lady and one of mixed race (none of those races being white). So the predatory terror and hodgepodge of sketchiness that smears itself along the walls and floors of these godforsaken relics of OldWhiteHarvard is something that I may feel more acutely than some. Most smart girls avoid these places like a public toilet with an old poo stagnating in it. Even still, sometimes I just find myself there... no explanation for that. And also, no excuse:

um, yeah...

Sometimes they can be the only places you can "stand in a circle around our pocket book and shoes... I just wanna dance". Especially considering Boston is not poppin', just not. So hordes -or shall I say whoredz- of underage ladies bounce their nubile selves into these joints for the mild entertainment of strange men in tuxes and medallions, or beachwear and ratty flipflops and backwards caps. All of these poor slights a little mixed up and just desperate for the attention they don't get without being bent over a beer pong table. Most of them just peek in, looking for something or someone, hoping to satisfy a weak curiosity... and always ending up disappointed for one reason or another.

All the misogyny, elitism, classism, and racism aside*... Final Clubs, or Finals Clubs, are like so many other institutions at Harvard. They're just rapidly deteriorating in the original quality that once made them what they were. Like the Lampoon that used to be funny; or the Crimson that used to get you somewhere; or like the Harvard name that used to not be attached to a clothing line. Everything losing its polish or spark or initial je ne sais quoi. And while I could bash on the whole Final Club scene, it's almost like teasing a retard. Just sort of pathetic on my part, really. And while I sort of hope that they're secretly doing more than planning the next weekend's party theme in these centuries-old buildings (like something remotely cool/cinematic like money laundering, illegal gambling, art smuggling, or minor drug trade)... I think we all know that they're just homo-ly daydreaming about which superneato underclassman they want to "punch" this season.

*haha, as if!

[Only] at Harvard...

A pile of books.... about books.

The Problem With College

How can you make sure that you're not just hopping from one algae-covered stepping stone to the next algae-covered stepping stone, ever destined (if not now then eventually, anyhow) to slip and get your jeans soaked and muddy up to your thigh? That you're not just reading the directions to be directly directed in the right direction?

What I mean is, am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing or what I am meant to be doing? There's a huge f***ing difference between the two. And the ambitiously naive part of my worried little head is tugging on the bottom of my skirt, hiding behind my legs at the supermarket, asking if it can have this or if it can have that. And I want to tell this part of me that it can have whatever it wants. "Yes, you can have Froot Loops and not the generic bagged brand. Yes, you can get that Hello Kitty alarm clock, yes you can have a Hershey's bar, yes you can have those cheap and tacky sunglasses on the plastic rack by the batteries." And so on.

But instead, I'm leaning down and saying, "I'm sorry honey... maybe next time?"

And this extended metaphor... which is getting creepier as I think about it... what I really mean by it is...
Why are books at the Coop so goddamn expensive??????

I just want to take nice classes, Harvard. Why must you deny me this? Is it my fault that Interracial Literature has nine books ($181.27)... or that Historical Studies A-14 has a 70 dollar coursepack that looks like something my elementary school teacher put together? Honestly, its plastic-spiral bound, with a construction paper cover. Sensational. I was so worried about getting a full refund on my books because of my previous experience with those skinflinty scrooges that I showed a little cleavage to the cashier (he turned out to be gay, go fig'). See the new lows I have been brought to for the pursuit of an education? See the desperation?

And while I shuck and jive for course materials, I can't help but trip on the irony that I may have made it into an amazing school... but still can't even afford to do my homework. When you get called on in section I doubt a suitable answer would be, "I'm sorry, I'm just too po' to tell you what Emile Durkheim said about that."

In all seriousness though, the problem with college is that the scholarly education comes from only what is within your means. I know this is a little heavier than my usual outfit-posting and and rants about advertising, but its true enough for me to be a little downhearted. And while I'm shopping for courses saying, "Wow, this class sounds awesome! Look at all the amazing and important readings and shit!" I'm really going to end up saying, "Wow, this class sounded awesome... but look at all the readings...shit."

A Ragtag Harvard Halloween

Pikachu*, Wonder Woman*, Napoleon*, Ms. Officer*, Racecar Driver*, Peacock*

*read: sexy

Top 10 Things You'll Miss in College

Dear former self,

Had I told you several months ago (or now? rather) that you would be going to Harvard you would have shrugged and asked me what the hell happened with Brown/RISD. But since this was more or less inevitable, give-or-take the possible changes of heart that might have occurred in the admissions office, here are a few things you really ought to know about Harvard... or college in general.

The 10 things you'll miss the most... not at all in order:

1. Not having to worry about being lawn ornaments on a landmark
You'll be living in Holworthy, which though rad (Conan O'Brien totally lived on the first floor in 1981, yo) it happens to be on the path of Harvard Unofficial Tours. So keep dem blinds shut, and try to hide your unmentionables in the bottom of your hamper so when the Chinese tourists come a'clickin' your skanky panties don't end up in their photo album.
2. Bathroom time as a leisure necessity
Pooping in solitude is largely a luxury. Next time get a suite with lockable bathroom doors. On a related note, you'd be able to sing in the shower too.
3. Blaring your most indulgent guilty pleasures at full volume
While your suitemates may be playing Lil' Wayne and Carrie Underwood on the daily, knowing the music snob that you are, you're only going to be listening to the digestible good stuff out loud (Andrew Bird, The American Analog Set etc.) at least until your roomies know you better. Save the Kpop and the Incubus for winter break.
4. The little Mom N' Pop Chinese Restaurant You Loved So Much
Granted, Annenberg Hall ain't half badsies and its Hogwarts regalness is something to appreciate... they just don't make orange chicken or fried umplings like good ol' Sichuan Wok.
5. Free Museums in DC ... Scratch that, DC in general
Cambrige is righteous and all, but WMATA is so fresh and so clean-clean in comparison.
6. Local Music Scene Back Home
This is a "I MISS MY BANDMATES" post in disguise.
7. Mommy
Because she loves me more than Thomas Dingman, Dean of Freshman, or Drew Faust.
8. That Stuffed Animal You Didn't Bring to School Because You Thought Someone Would Laugh
youre the only one who didn't bring one, hon.
9. Security
Harvard University Police send you a courteous little paranoia-inducing alert everytime someone in Cambridge gets mugged. Isn't that just so...pleasant?
10. Being Able to Sleep on the Floor
Sometimes I think this hardwood hasn't been cleaned since Howard Hughes lived here. Remember to bring a swiffer, darlin'.

xoxo,
You/Me

College, Babeh

Sorry for the egregious lack of posts lately, dearest. Harvard has been keeping me a busy, busy, gal. I've been scheming to deface good ol' John Harvard Miyavi-style but we'll see how it goes.

No outfit posts unfortunately, and I really wish I had the good ol' Canon E40 because there are some nice Sarto-style photos I could be taking. Overall, a swank campus despite the stuffy rep.

Went to a decidely hipster-bicycle-enthusiast-attractin'-ironically plaid-and-vegan-scene zine fair and realized perhaps DC is much cooler than I initially gave it credit (compared to Boston that is). Snagged a nice free music zine, attempted to chat up a kid who looked like my beloved Chris Chu, and got a nice little patch with a silkscreened 1968 French Student Revolution poster on it. We sit playing guitar on the Yard, writing poetry and sketching passersby. Oh college, you're exactly as they said you would be...